


Twinkle Lights and Snowy Nights

by haloeverlasting



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Financial Issues, Loneliness, Lots of tears, M/M, Reunions, but some nice soft things too, this little thing got away from me i'll be honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 10:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17139980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloeverlasting/pseuds/haloeverlasting
Summary: Christmas should be calmer, Harry thinks. It shouldn’t be so frenzied and panicked all the time. He shouldn’t be so frenzied and panicked all the time.It’s only because he’s going home that he feels frenzied and panicked in the first place. Christmas has little to do with the feeling… going home just doesn’t feel anything like the vacation it should be. He’s had a pit in his stomach since he bought the plane ticket. It’s the first time he’s been able to afford to go home in three years.Harry's exhausted, and he's hungry, and he needs more help than he's willing to admit. Luckily, those most important to him love him just the same.





	Twinkle Lights and Snowy Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BriaMaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriaMaria/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, dear friend!  
> I hope this little gift makes you feel warm. <3 
> 
> Thanks to my lovely beta and friend. I'll tag her here after reveals have happened. :)  
> Title is a lyric from Kacey Musgraves' "Christmas Always Makes Me Cry"

_ Thump _ . 

Harry heaves a deep sigh. Something else has just fallen off its hanger in the closet. He’s tired of fighting it into its rightful place. Tired of considering whether he should just bring it with him if it won’t stay on the hanger. Tired of fussing over everything all the time. 

Christmas should be calmer, he thinks. It shouldn’t be so frenzied and panicked all the time.  _ He _ shouldn’t be so frenzied and panicked all the time.  

It’s only because he’s going home that he feels frenzied and panicked in the first place. Christmas has little to do with the feeling… going home just doesn’t feel anything like the vacation it should be. He’s had a pit in his stomach since he bought the plane ticket. It’s the first time he’s been able to afford to go home in three years. Afford probably isn't the right word. It’s the first year he’s been able to stretch himself thin enough to swing it. And wow is that stretch taut. He feels so tightly strewn he’s not sure he’ll even make his flight. One step in the wrong direction might fling him backwards into another dimension. 

There was a time, he thought, when going home for Christmas was a romantic idea. It was warm, cozy, and a welcome reprieve from his chaotic days in university. When Harry chose a school in America, he thought an English Christmas could be the greatest gift he could offer himself. He just didn’t expect it to come at such a high cost. He knew the flight was pricey, he just had no way of knowing the struggles he’d face.  

He had no idea that his courses would be so difficult, and that the city was the kind of loud he doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to. Sleep was hard to come by, which made showing up to work on time next to impossible. And of course, keeping a job he struggled to show up to didn’t prove very plausible either.  Harry never could have known that his big American adventure would be riddled with so much failure. 

Harry’s stomach growls, a timely reminder of what that failure really means. He stuffs a few more things into his bag, then leans against it with his eyes shut tight. He’s tired, he’s hungry, and he’s not really been able to provide for himself for three years. Failure is the agonizing hunger he feels in bed at night, unable to break into the rations he’s made for himself, lest he miss breakfast the next morning. 

Now going home for Christmas for the first time in three years feels embarrassing. He’s ashamed that it’s taken him so long to manage it. He feels guilt gripping at his heart and mind at the idea of everyone really knowing how poorly Harry’s been doing in New York by himself. 

His family isn’t stupid. That first year was really tough on all of them, Harry struggled to find time to talk to them, and that first Christmas, when Anne asked Harry what day he’d be home, Harry admitted that money was really tight and that he wasn’t sure he’d make it. 

There were tears, and Harry assured her again and again that he was fine and that he’d make it home sometime in the summer, and that he’d never miss a Christmas again. She just worries so much, and Harry wasn’t about to make it worse. 

Now, he has to see them and know that they feel sorry for him. Harry zips up his bag and tries to push it down so it doesn’t bulge so much. He’s really dreading this. He’s never had to look into eyes that know vaguely of his struggle and see pity aimed at him. 

It’s not that Harry’s life is all bad. He has friends, and all the wild, crazy university stories to show for it. It’s the in-betweens that hurt, when all his friends can go home and he can’t, or when they all go out and he goes home alone because he doesn’t feel like asking to get a drink off someone else. 

There’s this hollow feeling that he carries with him these days. It’s loneliness, really. It’s the part of him that has to listen to his friends cry out hashtag relatable when Harry says money is tight, only to see them celebrate a second later when their parents make another transfer to their account. It’s being so tired after an overnight shift and stumbling into class anyway. It’s periods of time where he’s working constantly and still comes up short for rent. There’s no one in his life in New York that understands this—that understands him and his struggle at its core. 

Harry hopes that his family can forgive him, and he really hopes he never has to let them down again. The bright spot of his week was a tearful conversation with his mum when he announced he’d make it home for Christmas this year. He’ll be embarrassed and uncomfortable on Christmas morning when he has nothing to offer for the tree. But he’ll get to hug his mum and sister tight, and he’ll go to sleep feeling full in a bed he misses all the time. 

Harry stands up from the floor and puts his old jumper back on the hanger from where it fell. He takes a controlled deep breath in and releases it slowly as he returns to his suitcase. He zips it tight and grabs his passport from the kitchen counter before beginning his journey home. 

 

  
  
Harry slept most of the flight. There’s a crick in his neck to prove it. His head is foggy and he feels more tired than he did before because of the dreams. There’s so many people he hasn’t had time to think about for years, and it seems they all showed up to say hello while he dozed off on his long flight. 

He had one specific dream that’s bugging him even now, though it came somewhere in the middle when his consciousness was probably most troubled. He heard a twinkly laugh, and saw some blue eyes he hasn’t let himself dwell on in a while. It was so brief, any normal person would have dismissed it and thought about the more elaborate, stranger dreams that drifted through his subconscious. But Harry can’t stop remembering it, he can’t help the way it makes his heart pound harder, and the shame creeps all the way down his spine. 

There’s a good chance he’ll see those eyes in person on this trip. And the thought makes Harry want to climb right back on the airplane and spend another Christmas alone. 

“Harry!” a shrill, familiar voice calls from the other side of baggage claim. 

Harry grins, and it feels unfamiliar on his face. Few people can make him smile like this, and one is just about to barrel into him right beside a moving conveyor belt. 

Gemma, his dear sister, scoops Harry up like she isn’t smaller than he is, and it makes Harry laugh louder than he has in months. She only lifts him off the ground a few seconds before his feet fall back on the floor and he’s able to squeeze her tight. Her perfume is familiar, and he can tell that she’s about to cry, maybe because he feels a tear or two fall down his own cheek as well. 

“Missed you, Gem,” Harry says, unsurprised by the frog in his throat. 

Gemma gives him one last squeeze before she releases him, taking a big step back to take in the sight of her baby brother. There’s a sad smile on her face, and she reaches for his hand and gives it a small tug. 

“Mum’s been crying all morning in anticipation so you better wipe that shit off and save it for her,” Gemma says, ignoring her own tears. 

“Believe me, I’ve got plenty,” Harry chuckles, giving Gemma’s hair a quick tug. 

They stand at the wrong conveyor belt for a long while, but neither of them notice. Gemma chats cheerfully about the boy she’s been seeing, and Harry interjects playfully that he sounds too good to be true. When they realize how long it’s been and that there’s a lone familiar suitcase all the way on the other side of baggage claim, they giggle loudly, trying to push the blame on each other. 

It feels nice, and warm, and exactly the way Harry thinks Christmas should. 

When they arrive at the house, Harry feels a new wave of emotions stirring inside. He’d been expecting tears, but not so many of his own. It’s just been so long since he’s felt truly safe and cared for and this place, this house is the last set of walls where those feelings didn’t have to be considered. They just were. 

Gemma’s already left the car, and is grabbing Harry’s things from the trunk, likely to make room for the woman in the window, who’s just seen them. Anne opens the front door, and Harry loves her in a way that hurts. He watches as she goes down the snow covered stairs in her socks, and smiles wide at her, allowing her to grip him in a nearly suffocating hug. 

She sobs into his shoulder, and Harry might tease her. Might tell her she’s exaggerating. It’s not like he’s returned from war. But Harry’s in no place to judge, not when a sob of his own catches him off guard, as his face finds its way into his mum’s neck. He really fucking missed her. He missed home. He can’t believe there was a second he wanted to crawl back on the plane. The shame, the embarrassment, and all that feels silly now. All he really needed was his mum. 

He sniffles loudly, and lets her go for a second. Anne is reluctant to follow suit and gives him another squeeze before letting her go. It’s just like Gemma did at the airport, and the thought makes him smile. 

“Are you hungry? Tired? Want me to draw you a bath? What do you need, love?” Anne asks, her hands moving from Harry’s shoulders to both his cheeks. 

“You saying I smell?” Harry teases, wiping the tears off his face for the third time since he landed. 

Anne grins, but hums sympathetically anyway, “There’s food ready for you, let’s start there.” 

They make their way inside, and Harry wants to cry all over again. He feels so fragile, and it’s finally dawning on him that he hasn’t just been without the safety and care of home, but he’s really  _ needed _ it. It’s warm in the house as it always is, and there’s a banner on the big empty wall of their kitchen that says ‘Welcome Home, Hazza’ with lots of hearts on it. 

Gemma apparently brought in Harry’s things when he wasn’t paying attention, because she’s already sat at the table with plates filled and waiting for him. He takes a seat, and though he’s starving, he takes a moment first to take in the sight of his mum and sister. He knows what it means to miss someone, but it’s the first he’s experienced being reunited. And while he knows this feeling is heightened by the amount of time he’s spent missing these women in his life, it still feels silly. He feels ridiculous for the smile on his face, and the tears threatening to push through again, and for wanting to scoop them both in for one more hug and stay there for a while. It’s overwhelming. 

He’s just been filled with so much sadness for so long. He sort of imagined being here again would replace his sadness with warmth. Instead they’re mingling together inside of him, filling him up so high that Harry can’t help the way it’s spilling over. It’s all he can focus on. 

“Would you stop looking at us like that and eat your potatoes? They’re getting cold.” Gemma scolds him, but he can see the gentle gleam in her eye. 

He does as she asks, and eats the food in front of him. He gets through it quicker than he means to, and doesn’t even have to ask before Anne is refilling his plate. 

“You know, love, I could’ve sent you some money for groceries,” Anne says, gently. 

It stings. It’s the kind of pity Harry’d been expecting, but he tries to shrug it off. He knows his mum means well. 

“It was just a long flight, mum.” He says, hoping to ease the tense worry in her eyebrows. 

The subject changes, thankfully. They ask him questions that he answers with his mouth full, and the sadness and the warmth that swirl around each other don’t keep him from telling his family about all the good things they’ve missed. Harry tells them all about his favorite spots in the city, and how much he missed seeing stars anyway. He tells them how he’s been excelling in his courses, and how hard he’s working, and tries to feel proud of all he’s accomplished since they’ve seen him last. 

He leaves out the parts where he tells his friends he "forgets" to eat sometimes, or the weeks where he won’t sleep more than a few hours each night between work and homework and the anxiety that settles high in his throat and chest during those chaotic times. He doesn’t tell them about the biggest heartbreak of his life, and how many awful situations he put himself in to try and forget it. 

Somehow, Harry thinks that they know anyway. He doesn’t have to tell them. They must know, or else his plate wouldn’t be so full, and there wouldn’t be an extra blanket set out on the couch for when Harry immediately crashes there. And they must know, or else Gemma wouldn’t lean against the table and frown before asking the very question Harry hoped she wouldn’t.

“Did you tell Louis you were coming home?” 

Harry sits up a little straighter in his chair. He feels really full, and tries to believe that that’s the real reason his stomach lurched when he heard that name. He’s over what happened with Louis. He doesn’t know why his name is upsetting, or why his subconscious brought him back up. He worked hard to push that away. 

He should’ve known that being home meant this would be harder to ignore. 

“I’m going to take that stiff silence as a no?” Gemma pushes, delicately. She won’t keep eye contact longer than a few seconds, and Harry’s grateful for that, though it’s making it harder for him to say fuck off without really  _ saying  _ it. 

“I mean, is he here? Does he need to know?” Harry asks, more defensively than he’d hoped. 

“It’s Christmas, Haz, of course he’s here,” Gemma says thoughtlessly. 

Harry’s stomach lurches again, this time feeling drenched with guilt. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t know, Gem. I haven’t spoken to him in years.” Harry shrugs and leans back into his chair. He’s trying for nonchalance, but his movements are sharp and they give him away. 

“I’m sure he’d still love to see—“ 

“Well I wouldn’t just yet,” Harry interjects, harshly and then takes a deep breath, “I just need some more time with you two. You’re the only reason I’m here. I missed you terribly.” 

Anne coughs, uncomfortably shifting in her chair, “Of course, we missed you too dear. There’s just. A lot of people have missed you. They’ve been asking after you, so we have to… consider them, I suppose.” 

Harry’s throat feels tight. Louis’ been asking about him? 

“Love, are you alright?” Anne asks softly. 

“Yeah, mum. I’m just… I’m really tired. Long ass flight and all.” 

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, before Anne begins cleaning up the table. “Why don’t you and Gem pop in a movie? Something interesting so you don’t go to sleep too early.” 

Gemma agrees, immediately taking her leave to pull out a few old favorites from their cabinet. Harry knows it’s a ruse. Harry’s been known to sleep for long stretches of time anyway, and he’s not stupid. He knows that his eyes are sunken in from months and months of stress and poor sleep. Still, with the discomfort, he feels safe. He feels cared for. 

So he takes a seat on the couch and pulls the blanket over his lap, and falls asleep before the opening credits of  _ The Santa Claus  _ have even finished. 

 

  
Harry wakes up three times that night. Each time more disoriented than the last. 

First, it’s after the movie, when his mum gently ushers him to his old bedroom. He doesn’t stay awake long enough to thank her. 

The second time, it’s the next morning. He sits straight up in bed, jolted from his dreaming, and realizes how badly he needs to pee. He stands up, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he goes and walks into the bathroom. He can smell his mum cooking something for breakfast, and he’s sure that the kitchen will be his next stop. Then he remembers what subject his sister started pushing the night before, and he thinks maybe he should keep to himself a few more minutes. He finishes at the toilet, and washes his hands, before sneaking back into his bedroom. 

When Harry shuts the door quietly behind him, he realizes he hadn’t taken it in the night before. It had been dark, and his eyes weren’t so cooperative by then. It feels strange, to stand here after so many years away. It’s like stepping into a time capsule, but instead of looking at things that remind him of a former self, he’s affronted with a collage dedicated to his friendship with Louis. 

There’s things specifically from Louis—weird little notes they used to pass each other in class, and photos hung all over the wall—and things that just remind Harry of him, like the fairy lights above his window. Harry had mentioned wanting something like that in his room, but was worried it might be too girly, and Louis in his older, and wiser mind reassured Harry that if it was, it didn’t matter. 

Harry heaves a sigh and sits back down on his bed. Louis wants to see him, or so Gemma says. Harry’s sure that Louis only wants to curse him out. He wants to have a few loud, angry words at him. Words that Harry couldn’t handle alone in New York, and he shouldn’t have to handle now. He’s been through enough. 

Another harrumph pushes Harry to his bed, where he lies down and stares at the ceiling. And much to his dismay, he falls asleep again, dreaming of summers on bicycles, and tearful phone calls from not so long ago. 

  
The next time Harry wakes up, it’s because of his sister. She’s shaking him awake like some kind of animal, and Harry is feeling too groggy for this kind of urgency. He groans and pushes her off and groans again when she takes a seat on his bed. 

“Harry,” Gemma says plainly. “Listen, you’ve got to get up.” 

Harry’s not ready for words yet. He moans pathetically and receives a sharp tug at his arm. 

“Jesus, what do you need?” Harry replies harshly, pulling away his arm, “That really hurt.” 

“Sorry, it’s just, erm. Well. Don’t be mad okay?” 

Harry sits up, brows furrowed and looks his sister in the eye. Gemma looks  _ nervous _ . 

“What could you possibly have to tell me that would have you looking like that?” Harry rubs his eyes, waiting for his chance to tell Gemma she’s overreacting. 

“So the Christmas party? The one we’ve hosted every year?” 

Harry nods, urging her to continue. 

“It’s tonight. Right now. People are arriving.” 

Harry’s mouth falls open. He stares at Gemma, or more in Gemma’s general direction as the reality she’s just given him settles in. 

" _ What? _ ” 

Harry throws off the blanket and swings his legs off the bed. He slept  _ way  _ too long. His legs feel like jelly and his head is pounding from the sudden movement as he moves to a sitting position on the floor. 

“What time even is it?” Harry asks as he throws his suitcase open. 

“It’s like four. Mum and I really didn’t expect you to sleep so long, I promise we were going to warn you this morning,” Gemma explains, the words falling from her mouth rapidly, laced in remorse. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me last night?” Harry spits back. He doesn’t like to sound so accusatory, but then again he doesn’t like this horrible urgency he feels now either. 

“I mean, after you reacted that way to Louis’  _ name _ did you really think I was about to—“ 

Harry stops, hands frozen on the jumper he was looking for and eyes wide set on the door in front of him. “Louis’ here?” 

“Not yet,” Gemma clarifies. “But he’s, um, coming.” 

Harry stands up quickly, turning to confront his sister. 

“Are you kidding me?” Harry asks seriously. “If you push this any further, it’s not a joke. It’s cruel.” 

“I’m not kidding,” Gemma confirms, deflated. “Mum and I thought you’d be excited to see him.” 

“Did you invite him on my  _ behalf _ ?” 

“I mean, he always comes. Or, he has every other year. You know that,” Gemma starts. “We told him you were going to make it home this year, and he seemed…  _ sad _ . So, we reassured him that you’d love to see him.” 

“So he seemed sad and you urged him to come anyway,” Harry repeats back to her. “You saw a negative response to  _ my _ name and thought it would be good for him to be here. Is that right?” 

“Harry you haven’t told us  _ anything _ for the last three years, why would we have known something happened with you two?” Gemma gestures wildly at him, her words becoming more careless. 

“I don’t know Gem! Maybe the fact that he was  _ sad _ I was coming  _ home _ might have been a good clue!” 

Harry steadies himself a moment, taking a sharp breath in. He looks his sister in the eyes and holds her gaze a few moments. He can see her remorse, but he can also sense the tiniest bit of pity. It sits deep in her stare, threatening to poke all the way out and ask Harry what’s happened to him. It makes him angry. Not the kind of mad to cause Harry to lash out, more like an inward, hurricane of a thing in his chest. 

He feels angry at his situation, for every bit of independence being laced with feeling pathetic and hungry all the time. He feels angry that no one understands how hard things were in New York, and even more so that he never gave anyone a chance to. He feels angry at Louis for being so goddamn persistent even from thousands of miles away, with his care and his concern that always made Harry feel so stupid. He’s angry at his family for pushing into his business when he’s worked so hard to leave them out of it. He never meant to isolate himself this way. When he stopped answering questions and phone calls, he never realized that meant he’d be well and truly alone with it all. 

Really, Harry’s angry with himself. He feels this sullen rage, sure, but it’s also mounds of sorrow and longing. He wishes he’d never gone to New York, and he wishes he’d done more research about the cost of living in America—or even just in general. He wishes he’d been more prepared to be on his own, or less afraid to ask for help. He wishes he’d accepted the help that was offered to him. If he’d only swallowed his pride and listened, then maybe this wouldn’t even be happening. Maybe he’d be getting ready for this party, knowing full well that Louis was coming, and hoping he’d hurry over. 

“Harry, I’m sorry—“ Gemma says, bringing Harry back into the present moment. 

“No, Gem, I’m sorry,” Harry grumbles, knowing full well it sounds insincere.  “I’m sorry I disappeared.” 

Gemma’s lower lip trembles, and Harry can immediately recall a much younger Gemma in his mind’s eye. He remembers when they’d hit each other or push each other, and her lip would tremble and Harry had precisely ten seconds to soothe her before his mum found out what happened. He sits beside her on his bed and wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. She sniffles, and hugs Harry’s waist. 

“I’m sorry I woke you up to make you attend this party happening in our living room,” Gemma says softly. “But you slept for fucking  _ ever _ , okay? It was time.” 

Harry chuckles and nods so his face tousles Gemma’s hair slightly. 

“I mean seriously, we thought you might be dead.” 

Harry laughs louder this time, and sits up straighter. “Well, I’m alive. And I guess this is happening.” 

Gemma leaves his room a few minutes later, leaving Harry to ready himself in more ways than one. He’s trying to choose between a green or blue jumper while also coming to terms with the fact that he will definitely see Louis today. It’s a lot to process. 

Harry opts for the blue one, but second guesses it. The sooner he’s ready the sooner he has to face everyone. Including Louis. Harry shakes his head and throws his clothes on, smoothing them out. He takes a long look in the mirror,  pushes his hair back on his head, and sighs. He’s due for a haircut. He still looks tired, even after sleeping for actual ages. 

Harry rubs at the bags under his eyes, and pulls a pair of dress socks from one of his old drawers. Harry bends over to pull them on, but he trips a bit and hits his head on a knob.

“Fuck,” Harry sputters, taking a seat to finish his task. 

He’s not ready for this. He won’t ever be ready for this. 

So he stands to his feet and walks out of his bedroom, into the hallway, and finds himself in the living room. 

Many people have already arrived. His mother’s outdone herself with the decorations this year. He’s sure some of them were up already the night before, he’d just been too tired and dreary to notice. Everyone’s got a drink in hand, and they’re chatting amicably with one or two people in their immediate area. Harry feels like a ghost from Christmas past. He stands in the doorway and he takes in the sight of something he’s always treasured and smiles. 

That’s when he sees him. All the way across the room, through several sets of heads, Harry can see his bright smile, and his crinkly, cheerful eyes. He feels his cheeks get warmer, and he shuffles a little where he stands. It’s good to see him, though he hopes to God Louis won’t see him just yet. 

If Harry listens closely he can make out Louis’ laugh, and it makes his heart hurt. It’s far enough away, muffled by the sound of everyone talking and laughing, that it reminds him of a late night phone call. Harry can hear that laughter fade, and turn to gentle words of encouragement. Harry remembers crying into the phone about breaking his mum’s heart. 

_ “Hey, Haz. It’s okay.”  _

_ “It’s not okay, how could this ever be okay. I miss her so much, I miss you, I miss Gem. I don’t know how I fucked this all up so bad,” Harry cries.  _

_ “You know… Harry. I could help,” Louis starts, quiet and hesitant.  _

_ “How could you help something like this? I broke my mum’s heart, you can’t just  _ fix  _ that.”  _

_ "I could buy your ticket,” Louis says, voice wavering. “We could surprise your mum for Christmas. And you could come home. I really miss you.”  _

_ Harry’s heart falls to his stomach where it pounds hard into his abdomen. He can feel his face growing hot, and his breathing getting sharper.  _

_ “No,” Harry says plainly. “I won’t let you do that.”  _

_ “Why not, Haz? It’s not entirely selfless. I’d really like to see you too.”  _

_ “You don’t have to say that. You just—“ _

_ “I mean it,” Louis says, insistent. “It could be my gift. You’re like family. I’d do this for anyone in my family.”  _

Harry’s cheeks burn, and remembers where he is. He feels all the shame he felt then. He remembers the pain that came with Louis confirming he’d only ever be a brother figure. Harry never wanted Louis to look at him like that. He’d wanted much more. And judging by the way his heart is pounding, it might be time to admit he still does. 

Harry considers turning around and waltzing right back into his room. He could pretend he never joined the festivities at all, because really he hasn’t. He’s an observer in his own home. 

Instead there’s a familiar voice that calls his name. Harry winces at its volume, hoping it didn’t attract too much attention. It’s Liam approaching him, a good friend from school. They played football together. Or rather, Harry watched Liam play a lot of football from the bench and ran drills with him. 

“It’s so good to see you, mate!” Liam reaches a hand out, then pulls Harry in for a hug. He pats Harry on the back jovially, and it feels warm and familiar.

“You too, man,” Harry smiles, “How’s life?” 

“It’s good, it’s good!” Liam grins wide, “Just working, working, working, ya know? Adulting and all that bullshit.” 

“Yeah, I feel that,” Harry says, wishing he had a drink to cheers with. 

“How’s New York then? Must be bloody fantastic if it took you so long to come back home,” Liam jokes, nudging Harry’s side.

Harry’s laugh in return is twinged with discomfort, “Yeah, yeah, ya know. The city never sleeps, so how could I?” 

It feels weird to joke about it. It leaves a sour taste in Harry’s mouth and again takes him back to that dreadful first year. The ones where Harry assured his mum that everything was fine. No they didn’t need to take any more loans out, or send him anything. They’d borrowed more than enough. Harry was fine. Just fine. 

“Well, I’m glad to see you back, Haz. We’ve really missed you around here,” Liam says sincerely. 

Harry has always appreciated that Liam says exactly what he means. So he decides to return the favor. 

“It’s really good to be back, Liam.” 

Liam smiles warmly and pats Harry’s shoulder, “Good. Now go, drink, be merry! We’ll catch up again later.” 

Liam winks, and walks just past Harry to someone else he recognizes from his old school days. Harry grins when he sees them clasp hands and walk through the crowd together. It’s nice, knowing that time has moved forward here. It’s a reminder that no one here is the same person they were three years ago. 

Harry makes his way to the punch bowl and pours himself a glass. He sees his mum doing her busy work in the kitchen, and when she looks up to see him they smile at each other. Harry lifts his glass, and his mother smiles on fondly before returning to whatever she’s busying herself with. 

There’s a tap on his shoulder, and Harry frowns a second, twirling around to see Louis Tomlinson. The one and only. 

Louis stares at Harry like he’s shocked that he even turned around, and Harry realizes his mouth is gaping open in similar shock. 

Once Harry closes his mouth, he blinks a few times and is loathe to admit that his very first thought is that Louis looks good. He looks older, and maybe a little tired. But his eyes are still soft, and his hair looks really nice— like he spent a while playing with it until it laid right. 

“Hi, Lou,” Harry eventually breaks the silence. His words come out thicker than he meant, and he’s embarrassed by the sudden flood of emotion he’s experiencing. It’s just been a long time since those eyes have looked at him, and they’re looking at him like there isn’t a single thing more important to them. 

“Hi,” Louis rasps out. “I’m so glad you’re home.” 

Louis speaks as softly, and sincerely as he ever has. Harry wonders briefly if this is the pity he’d been so afraid of seeing. It doesn’t feel insulting now. It feels like love. 

Harry bites at his lower lip, “Yeah, er… me too.” 

Louis smiles this small, uncertain thing, and takes a step closer to Harry. It’s a relief because all Harry wants is to hold him, and be held by him for a few moments. It’s an itch he’s needed scratched for years. Something that faded to a dull ache a long time ago, but is flaring up again so close to all he’s ever wanted. 

They hug for a long time. Harry hears a sniffle by his ear, and he rubs Louis’ back for just a second before he remembers they don’t really know each other. Not that way. Not anymore. 

Harry lets go, hesitantly, and takes a step back.

“It’s, erm, good to see you, Lou. Can we catch up later?” Harry needs a moment alone to process all of this. He needs to gather himself and his words and find a way to fix it. Or at least explain himself. 

Louis nods his head rapidly, and sniffs again, trying hopelessly to hide how emotional he is. Harry tries to respect this and ignore it, but it’s a relief to know that Louis’ missed him too. Or at least, it seems he has. 

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Harry says. He doesn’t like the hopeless look in Louis’ eyes as he nods, and stares rather blankly as Harry takes his leave from their intense reunion. 

 

  
Harry does his best to distract himself. He indulges in the Christmas treats more than he should, and doesn’t do himself any favors by pouring glass after glass of punch to take the edge off. He’s hopped up on sugar, and it’s making his stomach ache, but that’s at least distracting him from the way Louis’ eyes keep finding his everywhere he goes. 

Harry’s spent so long resenting Louis, that the butterflies in his tummy keep surprising him. He’s not surprised they’re there, he’s just forgotten how familiar they are in association with those eyes and that smile. Harry is scared shitless to talk him, if only because his brain is finally starting to grapple with the intensity of his feelings for Louis. It’s fighting back against the instinct he’s built to push Louis away. 

Louis doesn’t see him that way. There’s just no way, and that’s why Harry doesn’t know if he can ever really talk to him. He’s not sure he can handle Louis berating him, or fighting about all the ways he could have helped. It hurts to think that while the world kept turning while he was in New York, that these feelings, and this fear haven’t changed. 

Harry never wanted a big brother. Gemma did just fine. 

Harry just wanted Louis, in a way that Louis apparently wasn’t willing to offer. 

It’s a long night of Christmas party pinball. Harry bounces from one end of the room to the other, exchanging pleasantries and assuring everyone he’s been fine. Honestly, it’s exhausting. Harry can’t believe how badly he wants to go back to bed. 

So when Louis grips his elbow and tugs, Harry nearly jumps out of his own skin. He’s exhausted, and a little drunk, and Louis’ chosen now to pick a bone with him. Louis’ apparently decided it’s time for Harry to be catapulted into the past where Louis still calls him kiddo  _ just _ before Harry’s gotten up the courage to try kissing him. 

Harry is mortified that these feelings came back so quickly. He can’t believe it took all of three minutes, and a long hug to bring back that hopeless, stupid feeling of longing for someone who’s only ever seen him as a brother. As family that needs caring for. 

“Hey,” Harry greets not so casually. He trips a little as he turns, and Louis’ there to catch him. Of fucking course he is. 

“I was gonna step outside for a smoke. Wanna come with?” Louis asks, quietly. 

Harry almost teases him about secondhand smoke. He almost steps into an old self that loved to make Louis squirm, and whine at him that he’s being poisoned. Instead he nods solemnly, and follows Louis to the door. 

They slip on their shoes and coats and step outside, where it’s much colder than Harry expects. He shudders a little at the wind, and shuts the front door behind him. Louis steps off the front porch and into the front lawn, where he pulls out his cigarettes and a lighter. Harry watches as he lights up, and takes that first drag. It reminds Harry of New York actually, and that first year, when all his friends would light one, and he’d been immediately soothed somehow, and transported to someone who’s always made him feel safe. 

Harry used to shake it off, telling himself it was silly to like such a foul smell. But now, with Louis again, he remembers exactly why he’s been fond of it. These were moments that felt set apart from all the others. He never invited his sisters out with him when he had a smoke. Only Harry. 

“How’s being home been?” Louis asks, suddenly. 

It hadn’t occurred to Harry that the silence was unwelcome, but he’s glad to have a chance to talk and distract himself all the same. 

“Fine,” Harry shrugs. “I’ve honestly not done much besides sleep.” 

Louis huffs a short laugh, “Yeah? Just another Christmas break then?” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, but this time was a little less in and out. I slept for like 18 hours or something ridiculous.” 

Louis laughs again, but it feels colder this time. Darker, even. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve been killing yourself for three years.” 

Harry shifts on his feet, just barely meeting Louis’ eyes before looking away again. 

“You really scared me, you know,” Louis says. Harry can feel his stare as he continues. “You were out there all on your own and you wouldn’t accept help from anyone, and even when you stopped telling me you weren’t okay, I could tell that you weren’t. I almost hopped on a plane at least six times.” 

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He sticks his hands in his pockets and shrugs. 

“You know how fucked up that was, right? Just… disappearing like that?” Louis shakes his head, “I honestly was worried you were dead on the street somewhere. It scared the shit out of me.” 

Harry remembers when he started lying to Louis. He remembers how much darker it all felt when he had to tell Louis he was fine. He doesn’t like to think about when he stopped answering all together.

“And then I finally found out you were alive when you left your phone out one time and some guy answered it.” 

Harry still doesn’t know what to say, so he listens closely instead. 

“This guy answered, and he laughed at me when I asked if you were okay. Never actually answered my question, but I told him to tell you that Louis called,” Louis takes another drag of his cigarette and shakes his head. “That guy didn’t have a damn clue who I was. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me to hear? How humiliating?” 

Harry opens his mouth to challenge this, when Louis cuts him off. 

“I couldn’t believe that the person I loved most in this world could just… decide he didn’t need me anymore. I couldn’t believe you could just cut me out like that. Especially when I knew how much you were hurting. When all I wanted was to come to New York and hold you. I can’t cook for shit but I was ready to throw  _ something _ together for you. I didn’t realize how much I loved you, Haz, until I wanted to care for you and you wouldn’t let me.” 

Harry watches as Louis drops the butt of his cigarette into the snow, he stares silently as Louis takes a few steps towards him. Harry’s stunned beyond belief when Louis wraps his arms around him and hugs him tight against his chest. 

“This is all I wanted. The whole time,” Louis murmurs. “Is this really so bad?” 

Harry exhales a deep breath he’d been holding since Louis stepped towards him. He shakes his head no, and hugs Louis a little tighter. 

“I really missed you, Harry.” 

“I missed you, too,” Harry admits. “I’m sorry.” 

He’s doing his best to process all of what Louis’ just said, but some of it just won’t compute. It feels like he’s short circuiting, and when Louis pulls away, he realizes it must be written all over his face because Louis takes his cheeks in his hands and keeps his gaze while coaching him through a deep breath. 

They walk back to the porch, and Louis takes a seat on the small bench and pats the seat next to him. 

“Sorry if I got a little carried away. Been waiting to tell you for years that I love you, and I never envisioned it looking or sounding like that.” 

“You what?” Harry asks, breathless. 

“I… love you?” Louis says, perplexed. “Did I not just tell you that a few minutes ago?” 

“No, you did, I just—“ Harry struggles to get the words out. “You mean just like… normal, right? You haven’t waited years to tell me that.” 

Louis smiles sadly, his shoulders dropping slightly before he looks to Harry again. 

“You’re really clueless, aren’t you?” Louis teases, though the sadness still hasn’t quite left his voice. 

“No, I just,” Harry harrumphs, “I just don’t want you to tell me anything that’s not true.” 

Louis leans in, crowding Harry’s space, and suddenly, Louis’ lips meet Harry’s in a sweet, whispered confession. Harry kisses him back in earnest, his own truth spilling out as his hand finds Louis’ cheek, where he strokes softly with his thumb. 

“Believe me now?” Louis asks softly, pressing a light kiss to Harry’s forehead. 

Harry sinks into it, allowing himself to be held, and doted on the way he was so afraid of before. He was afraid it meant something else. Something lesser, or more difficult to accept. 

“I’m so sorry, Lou,” Harry mumbles. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, or I stopped. I’m so embarrassed and just really fucking sorry.” 

“S’okay, Haz,” Louis reassures him. “You just. You don’t have to do it all on your own, you know? Let the people who love you do their job.” 

Harry nods, then shakes his head. He’s wasted a lot of time, and he feels incredibly lucky the world turned and changed, but Louis didn’t. At least, he didn’t change in ways that made him less dependable, or kind, or lovely. 

“I really wasn’t meant to be alone, I think,” Harry mumbles, pressing into Louis’ side. 

“I could’ve told you that. None of us are,” Louis says, and somehow it puts Harry at ease.

He’s maybe not so alone after all. 

 

  
Harry doesn’t return to school in the spring. He went to New York once, with Louis, to pack up his things. It’s okay that he couldn’t do this. Louis assured him of it with every kiss, and every hug. 

Being home has been an exercise in patience for Harry, mostly with himself. He struggled to let his mum provide for him so consistently, and he struggled with Louis sending him potential job and school applications. He admitted to himself that finishing his degree was important, but that he could do that without accruing even more debt. 

Every day Harry accepts help from those he loves most, though some help is easier to accept than others. Laughing at the dinner table, and a long cuddle on the couch are two things he didn’t realize he needed. 

Later that year, when Harry’s registering for university, with enough saved up to pay in full for his tuition, he lets Louis tell him he’s proud of him. They pretend it’s New Years and count down to Harry hitting the submit button. Harry kisses Louis eagerly, feeling about as drunk as he did in January. Drunk, and relieved, and in love with his very best friend. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I love you Bri! 
> 
> Merry Christmas to anyone else reading! :)  
> Leave a comment/kudos if you like. <3


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